


The Teen Wolf Rises

by sloganeer



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan) RPF, Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is he legal?” Joe asks. He tips his head at Dylan, happy and grinning, slumped between them in the booth. </p><p>“Not even close,” Tyler says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Teen Wolf Rises

**Author's Note:**

> I can't explain this, except that Ian Bohen did a small part in The Dark Knight Rises and I really like Joseph Gordon-Levitt. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Too many people know him in New York. Too many people know his name and his face, there are too many MTV meetings and parties, too many friends want to hang out with him, and Tyler doesn’t know how to say no. The older he gets, the earlier Tyler just wants to go to bed.

It’s especially sad back in LA when Ian and JR invite him out, because he hates saying no. He hates feeling left out. These last two days playing third wheel to “O’Brosey” on the promo tour has been just about enough for him.

After a day hanging out at the MTV offices, on-screen and off, Posey needs food, and Dylan says he knows a place he’s sure won’t be too crowded. Tyler says okay, even though his feet hurt and the bright lights are still floating in front of his eyes.

“Oh my God,” Dylan says, once they escape the crowds outside the MTV building and get around a corner. His arms flail up and smack Tyler in the chest. “You know who’s in town? Ian’s working on Batman this week!”

Posey says, “Dude,” low and serious. 

Tyler lets them walk ahead, where he can see them, but where he’s not going to get in the way of their double act. It’s always the best course of action when the Wonder Twins get excitable.

“Text him!” Posey says. “Maybe he can introduce you to Joseph.” He says the name funny, and Dylan rears back to punch Posey in the arm. Something else is going on here, but Tyler stays quiet. It’s safer when he’s in the dark, especially when it’s about Dylan.

Still, Dylan slows down, turns back, and puts his hand on Tyler’s arm, a quick squeeze to get his attention.

“It’s nothing,” Dylan says. Like he owes Tyler anything. 

“Okay.” They’re not dating. They haven’t even had sex in months. Tyler kind of thought it was over.

“This restaurant is great,” Dylan says, changing the subject. They’re walking together again, but Dylan looks away to pull out his phone and text Ian. Tyler spends so much of his life lately staring at Dylan’s profile. “Today’s going to be your cheat day,” he says, bumping his shoulder against Tyler’s.

Dylan takes care of them all in little ways. That’s how they hooked up in the first place. It could have been the opening scene of a porno, the way Dylan came into his trailer during camera set-up, still wearing his Beacon Hills lacrosse uniform, and Tyler was sitting in a chair with Derek’s leather jacket draped over the back. He was rolling his neck and trying to get comfortable when Dylan’s hands came down on his shoulders, squeezing, rubbing, then moved up his neck and into his hair, and before Tyler could say something about not messing up hair and makeup’s good work, they were kissing.

It shouldn’t have been that easy, but it was.

“Hey,” Dylan says. “I asked Ian, How’s Batman? He says a bunch of them are going out tonight.” He holds up his phone so Posey can read the text. Tyler straightens his shoulders so they can have a conversation with him in the middle. He’s trying not to make it awkward, but it’s a little awkward.

“What do you think?” Dylan asks. He looks at Tyler with a smile and sparkling eyes. “Wanna party with Batman tonight?”

Posey holds up a hand, but it takes a second for anyone to finish the high five. It takes a second for Tyler to look away from Dylan’s face. 

“Fuck yeah,” Posey says.

They eat first, at a place called Vynl with records on the wall and Barbies on the bar. Dylan plays drums with his cutlery on the mosaic table, and Posey adds the air guitar. Tyler scans the menu for something his trainer would let him eat. Posey orders Buffalo wings, Dylan flirts with the waiter, and Tyler picks out a lemongrass beef and arugula salad, dressing on the side.

“Wimp,” Posey says. 

“It’s a burger now or beer later.” Tyler shrugs. He works hard to keep himself in shape because this is his job. Posey may be the titular Teen Wolf, but Tyler feels how much they all share the responsibility of the show. It’s instinct born from so many years in front of the camera.

They get out of the restaurant with only one stain on Dylan’s shirt, one incident of Posey dancing on a chair, and one group of girls asking for photos and autographs. 

“No one can see it, Dylan. Stop worrying.” Posey steps out into the street to hail a cab. Tyler tries to keep his eyes on both of them, ready to reach out a hand and pull Posey out of traffic, and Dylan, lifting his shirt to tongue at the red spot of sauce. He can see Dylan’s stomach. Tyler has to look away.

He’s never been so happy to step into a dark and dirty dive bar. Tyler heads straight for the bar to buy the first round. The night has barely started, but he really needs a drink.

“How big is the biggest pitcher you sell?” he asks. The woman behind the bar gives him a bored look, holding up a regular plastic beer jug. “Give me three,” Tyler says.

At the back of the bar, he can hear Posey. He can imagine the kid has already attached himself to Ian. Tyler knows those running tackle hugs well. He can hear the excitement in Dylan’s voice, and he knows it’s not just Ian waiting for him at the table. 

It’s been a long time since Tyler felt overwhelmed meeting a celebrity. There’s not many who can compare when you get to work with the greatest at 14. But the thought that Gary Oldman might be over in that dark corner, past the wall of whiskey and the broken jukebox, it’s enough to prompt Tyler to ask the bartender for a shot.

“Dude, I’ll take one of those, too.” Dylan is talking to the bartender, his arm out to grab her attention, but he’s plastered himself to Tyler’s back, his other arm around Tyler’s stomach. “Is this what your nights out with Ian and JR and Jill are like? Do they just call up random famous people and buy them a beer?”

“You’re famous, Dylan.” Tyler knows he hates it, but it’s true. They drink the whiskey right there, bracing themselves, then Tyler picks up the three pitchers in two hands, motions for Dylan to grab the glasses, and he follows to a table.

“I know you’re, like, inured to celebrity, but there are a fuckload of famous people over there, who want to drink beer with us, and I don’t think I’m going to make it through the night without making a complete fool of myself.”

“Stay close,” Tyler tells him. “And don’t let them talk shit about MTV. You’re an actor, too.”

Tyler was right; Gary Oldman is there, and he’s telling a story because everyone is quiet and everyone is watching. After, Tyler sets the beer on the table, Tyler pours, for Posey, for Dylan, for himself, and for Ian, who stands and comes around to shake his hand and offer up his empty glass.

“It’s great to see you guys,” he says, and the handshake turns into Ian’s arm around Tyler’s shoulders. His hair is longer than it was the last time they were together, and Ian looks great. He looks ecstatic for a guy playing a bit-part on a Christopher Nolan film. 

“You here much longer?” Tyler asks. 

Ian shakes his head. “I wish.” 

There’s laughter, and in the silence that comes after, Ian takes the opportunity to introduce Tyler around. It’s one after another: Tom Hardy, then Marion Cottillard, then Gary Oldman, of course, who even stands to shake Tyler’s hand. There’s a whole crew of the journeymen actors, the guys like Ian, the guys like Tyler wants to be when he’s their age. 

He puts up a hand to call the waitress for another round of pitchers.

“Hey, man.” A deep voice to his left pulls Tyler round. “I’m a really big fan. Road to Perdition is amazing.” Joseph Gordon-Levitt holds out a hand for Tyler, but he’s not quite sure what to do with it. 

He says, “Hi.”

“Really, man. You’re great.” Joseph Gordon-Levitt puts both his hands on Tyler’s just to get him to shake. He’s shorter and slighter, but he commands attention, and Tyler feels himself leaning in without meaning to. “And congratulations on surviving puberty on TV. I mean it. Let me buy you something stronger.”

Over his shoulder, Tyler sees Dylan watching them, wide-eyed, watching Joseph Gordon-Levitt lead him to the bar, and Tyler shrugs like he should say sorry, but he doesn’t know what he did wrong.

Joe says, “Call me Joe,” and he waves over a bartender to recommend a bottle to take back to the table. Tyler tries to pay attention as the woman explains small batch, oak barrel, but something is going on with Dylan and his arms, and Tyler can’t look away. 

“Let’s drink,” Joe says, putting a hand on Tyler’s arm, not quite his shoulder, and guiding him back to the table. Posey already has his shirt off. The four of them around the table—Posey, Dylan, Tom, and Marion—have pushed up their sleeves to compare biceps.

“C’mon, Hoech.” Posey reaches out and drags him in. “Show this guy how it’s done.”

He’s wearing a sweater, and Posey grabs it by the shoulders, trying to yank it off. Tyler twists out of his hands. “What are you doing?” 

“Pull out those guns,” Dylan says. He’s slumped in the booth, his long fingers playing with his already-empty beer glass. He looks up at Tyler, with his eyes hooded and a smirk on his lips.

“I haven’t even finished my beer. I’m not getting naked.” 

Dylan leans into Tom, who dwarfs him under a friendly arm. “Yet,” he says, which makes Tom laugh, low and rough.

The night catches up to him, and that’s when Tyler notices he’s lost his beer. Tyler pushes Posey back down into the booth, throwing his forgotten shirt in his face. It’s nice to sit down at the end of the night. Joe slides into the other side, beside Marion. He holds up the whiskey like a question. 

“Please,” Tyler says.

“What’s MTV like?” Joe asks. “I know you guys are on the TV side, but I’ve been looking for financing on a project I think their film division would love.”

It’s easy to talk to Joe. He actually wants to talk about acting and the industry. He goes long on why he loves New York more than LA. He doesn’t flinch when he sips his whiskey, and more importantly, Joe doesn’t tease when Tyler does.

Tom gets up to call his son, back home in London and waking up early. They all slide around the booth to let him out. Posey is missing his girlfriend, too, and whining about it.

“Call her, dude.” Dylan gives him a shove until Posey disappears, cooing into his phone.

Joe sends Marion to deliver another shot for Gary Oldman, sitting at the next table over, holding court with the film crew. Tyler hasn’t worked up the courage to go talk to him, but just getting to shake the man’s hand made Tyler’s night. Their booth empties fast, and when Tyler sits down again, finishing the pitcher to fill his empty glass, Dylan stretches across the table, inching his own glass closer for a refill.

“Is he legal?” Joe asks. He tips his head at Dylan, happy and grinning, slumped between them in the booth. 

“Not even close,” Tyler says. Dylan laughs, high-pitched, but with a mouthful of beer. It sprays the table and catches Tyler on the side of his face.

“Oh, dude.” He scrambles up onto his knees on the bench, napkin in hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Tyler grabs the napkin away before Dylan does anymore damage. He settles in easily at Tyler’s side, even pulling Tyler’s arm over his shoulders when Tyler was trying so hard to be good. Joe watches from the other side of the booth, watches them over the rim of his glass.

“Put those dimples away,” Dylan says, pointing an accusing finger in Joe’s face.

“Don’t mind me,” he says. 

The conversation fades into the dark around them. Tyler can’t hear Posey shouting for Dylan, he can’t hear Ian’s guffawing laugh, but he can feel a hand on his thigh, and he knows who it belongs to.

Joe asks, “What are you working on right now?” He lays his arm across the top of the booth. His tie is pulled loose, and his shirt is open at the top, showing his long neck. “You guys aren’t filming, right? We have Ian for a few more days.”

Dylan has tucked himself underneath Tyler’s arm. He can’t tell if it’s the beer or the dark bar or if it’s just the end of a long week of press, and they’re both missing each other. They’re missing the closeness on set, downtime in their trailers, and secret touches in makeup. 

Tyler was missing Dylan, but he wasn’t sure until this moment if Dylan was missing him.

“It’s all press,” Dylan says. “So much press.”

Joe nods his sympathy. “Doing press for a film is a sprint, but a TV show—that’s a marathon.”

Posey returns to the table with a few bottles of water. He makes sure to put one directly into Dylan’s hand. Posey asks Tyler, “How is he?” because he knows Dylan won’t give him a straight answer.

“He’s great,” Dylan says, stretching up to pat Posey’s cheek. Usually that means he’s drunk. 

“All right, dude. I’m just going to be over there, okay?” He points to the pool table. Tom is walking over to them when Tyler looks. “He’s gonna show me how to play snooker,” Posey explains. He sounds less drunk and more excited.

“You don’t have the right balls,” Tyler says, glancing back at the pool table under the stained glass lamp. 

Posey slaps the table with a laugh. Behind them, he can hear Ian’s laugh, and Tyler can feel Dylan shaking against his side, pressing his face into Tyler’s chest.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Tyler says. Joe’s cheeks are dimpled, but he’s holding himself together. Tyler wants to apologize. 

“No worries, mate.” Tom slaps his hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “We’ll make do.”

Joe throws Tom the finger, but the English version, with two fingers. Tom throws him a kiss, and then he leaves with Posey. 

It’s just Tyler and Dylan and Joseph Gordon-Levitt in a round booth in an unnamed bar, somewhere in New York. It’s late, and Tyler has been up since 5. Dylan slept in at the hotel, while Tyler and Posey snuck down to the gym, and he hasn’t had that much to drink, but it doesn’t take much with Dylan. He’s all the way buzzed and touching everything. Touching Tyler.

“How long have you two been together?” 

Tyler snaps his eyes up to meet Joe. He looks fond, touching his beer glass with one hand the same way Dylan is touching Tyler’s thigh. We’re not together, Tyler almost says. His mouth is open. But Dylan beats him there. When it comes to talking, Dylan always beats him to it. 

“Not long,” he says. “It’s always easier on set, you know?” 

Joe nods his head like he does know. He doesn’t need anymore explanation from them. He tells the story about losing his virginity on the set of Third Rock, so Tyler has to tell his story about Seventh Heaven. Dylan stays quiet, nearly still under Tyler’s arm, except for the fingers curled around Tyler’s thigh and sneaking touches over his dick getting harder in his pants.

Ian makes the rounds, like this bar is his house and he’s invited everyone over to help him empty his liquor cabinet. He takes their orders for the next round, and when Tyler says he’ll have another beer, Ian says, “No. You can’t go back to beer now.” He looks down at his watch. “It’s time for cocktails.”

Ian walks away, up to the bar, and Tyler has no idea what’s going to happen next. He makes sure Dylan is sitting upright and slides out of the booth. “I’m just going to keep an eye on him,” Tyler explains. He looks to Joe, who agrees. He also moves closer to Dylan, who whispers something in Joe’s ear and makes them both laugh.

“I’ll keep an eye on this one,” Joe tells Tyler. 

“Bring me something in a fancy glass, Hoechlin!”

Tyler doesn’t think Dylan is drunk, just acting. His eyes are too focused, and there’s no tremble in his hand when he wags his finger at Tyler. He’s smiling, but it’s not the one for cameras; it’s the one for them.

“I’ll bring you water, and you’ll drink it.” For that, Tyler gets Dylan’s tongue stuck out at him. It’s hard to walk away, but he makes himself do it, and he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t need any more help imagining where this night could go.

Ian is at the bar. He grabs Tyler around the neck as soon as he’s close enough. “It’s great you guys came out. How long are you in town? You should visit the set.”

“Oh,” Tyler says. “I don’t know.” It doesn’t seem like Christopher Nolan would like that. “Are you allowed to bring guests?”

“Don’t even worry, dude.” Ian laughs. “I’m doing all my scenes in the middle of the night with the assistant director. The crew is desperate for company.” He leans in close. His breath is warm and sweet from the alcohol. “Especially company who don’t know how to play poker.”

“We’ll think about it,” Tyler promises. “But I know Posey really wants to get back to LA.” It’s easier to put it on him than admit how tired Tyler is of New York.

Beside him, Ian groans out loud. “Wimp,” he says. “Oh well. I’ll see you when I get home. We’ll call JR and Jill and kick their asses at pool.” He shakes Tyler by the shoulders. “Sounds good?”

“Great,” he says and waves goodbye as Ian disappears back into the dark and his group of big, burly film crew. Over the deep laughs and cheers, Tyler can pick out another voice, higher, not closer, but like it’s right in his ear. Instead of ordering another drink, Tyler asks for three waters and leaves a twenty on the bar. He follows the voice back to his table, like he followed that voice into a trailer, across the country, and on so many stupid adventures.

“Where’s my fancy glass?” Dylan asks. He sits up when Tyler sits down.

“Water,” he says, setting a bottle in front of both of them before twisting the cap off his own. Tyler didn’t even drink that much, but he’s feeling weird. He looks around for Posey, trying to gauge when he can get them out of here. “Are you ready to go?” Tyler asks.

“Ready to go where?” Dylan wonders. Joe’s arm isn’t around his shoulders anymore, but he’s still resting it on top of the booth, fingers playing through the short hair at the nape of Dylan’s neck. Dylan turns into him. “Where are we going to go?”

“I have an apartment,” Joe says.

“Did you hear that?” Dylan says. He stares up at Tyler with shining eyes. “He has an apartment.”

“We have a hotel,” Tyler says. He doesn’t want to call the night off yet, but he doesn’t know what Joe’s apartment means. 

“I also have a driver,” Joe tells them. He presses his nose against Dylan’s cheek, and when Dylan jerks, turns into a kiss. It surprises them all. It surprises Tyler with how much he likes it.

They look good together. Pale skin and dark hair, but their eyes are different. When Joe looks up at him, it’s intense. Tyler has to take a drink because his hand clenches reflexively around the water bottle, and the cold water is a welcome distraction. But Joe won’t look away. He wants Dylan, but he also wants Tyler’s permission.

“Okay,” he says, for himself and for Joe.

Dylan needs a hand up. He grabs hold of Tyler, and Tyler yanks him close. They stumble together towards the door.

“Take me to bed, Ty.”

Joe is on his phone, telling his driver to bring the car around. He makes his own rounds, saying good nights to everyone, from Gary Oldman down to the crew. Posey spots them before they go. 

“Uh oh,” Dylan says. He squeezes Tyler’s hand, then pulls away to catch Posey around the neck before he ambushes them. They talk between themselves, and Tyler hates how he feels the jealousy creeping up from deep inside. He holds it down while he watches them, knowing he can’t ever have Dylan like that. He never makes Dylan laugh like that. 

But when Dylan twists out of Posey’s arms, slapping away his hands when Posey won’t let him go, he finds Tyler immediately. Their eyes lock across the room, and it doesn’t feel stupid. It feels like a punch in the gut, but in a good way. Like nothing else in his life does. 

“We have to go,” Dylan whines, standing up tall and straight so Posey can’t climb on his back. “I gave you money. Get a cab.”

Posey whines right back at him. “Fine.” He follows Dylan, who wraps his arm around Tyler’s waist as soon as he’s close. “Have fun,” Posey says. “Have sex. I don’t care.”

“I don’t care if you don’t care,” Dylan shoots back. Tyler drags him out the door before Posey figures out his retort.

Joe is waiting for them on the sidewalk, leaning back against an anonymous town car, hand in his pockets, ankles crossed. “I was getting worried,” he says, pushing off the car and opening the door to the back seat. 

Joe keeps his hands to himself in the car, but Dylan, squished between the two of them in the backseat, has no restraint. He picks up Tyler’s hand in his, stretches out their fingers together. Dylan is smooth and light where Tyler is dark and hairy. He thinks this is one of those quiet, contemplative moments, and Tyler settles into it, enjoying Dylan’s touch and their steady breathing matching up. He can hear Joe humming something. 

Then Dylan slides down the seat. Tyler clenches his hand to catch him, but Dylan knows what he’s doing. He lifts Tyler’s arm over his head and wraps it around his neck, their hands still locked together. They spend a lot of hours on set, in trailers, sitting just like this, Dylan tucked into his side, long legs stretched out, and when they breathe, it’s together.

“Do I know that song?” Dylan asks, his attention on Joe even as he gives his body up to Tyler.

“It’s one of mine, actually.” Joe blushes. Tyler can see the red on his cheeks when they pass under streetlights. “Something I’m working on.”

“Cool.” Dylan bobs his head up and down. Tyler nudges him to stop. “I play drums,” he says. 

Joe says, “I know.” When he grins, his dimples go so deep. “I’ve seen YouTube.”

Groaning, Dylan tips his head back against Tyler’s chest. He looks up under his lashes at Tyler, pleading for something, protection maybe.

“You really want to compare embarrassing pasts?” he asks. He made more episodes of Seventh Heaven than Dylan has hours in his back catalogue. No one is ever going to win this fight against Tyler.

“Sure, but at least you were paid for those embarrassments. I put it all on YouTube for free.”

Joe puts his hand on Dylan’s knee. “Every job gets you somewhere,” he says. “If I didn’t take the Batman job, I wouldn’t be here with you.” He looks up at Tyler. “You two.”

The car stops, and Tyler has to let go to get out. Joe opens the door before his driver can round the car, and he even holds it for Dylan, offering a hand down. Dylan takes it with a fake Southern accent and a “thank you, kind sir.” Tyler doesn’t need any help, even though Joe offers him the same hand, once Dylan has let go, standing under his own strength now, staring up at the apartment building.

“I’m happy you decided to come,” Joe says, grabbing for Tyler’s hand anyway and pulling him in close. He’s shorter and speaks lower, so Tyler has to lean down to hear when Joe says, “He wouldn’t have come without you.”

Tyler doesn’t believe that’s true, but he nods, he follows Joe inside, he reaches for Dylan’s hand in the elevator, and he doesn’t let go until they’re in the apartment.

Dylan has to pee. That’s the first thing he says: “Gotta take a leak.” Tyler shouts a sorry down the hall as Joe leads Dylan towards the bathroom. He doesn’t need any help; he’s basically sober. It’s like any other night their group goes out to a bar. Dylan doesn’t need a lot to get drunk, but the alcohol also runs through his body on his fast-track metabolism, while Tyler has to weigh the beer against the burger, every time.

He waits for them on the hard couch in Joe’s living room. It looks nice, but not like anything Tyler would have in his house, and he can’t find the comfortable spot. But maybe that’s tonight, not the couch. The kitchen light is on, a harsh light reflecting off all the stark white surfaces, and a single lamp on the nearest side table, but that’s all the light in the room, save the city outside. Tyler can’t see anything happening down the darkened hall, but he can hear them. 

He can hear Dylan, actually, laughing.

The apartment looks like a grown-up’s apartment. It doesn’t look like the sterile place where Tyler is staying now or the messy place he shared with Dylan and Posey. There’s art on the walls, and the television is tiny. Without thinking, Tyler looks around for the remote. It’s too quiet in his head right now.

“You played baseball, right?” Joe has taken most of his clothes off when Tyler looks up. He’s standing in bare feet, leaning against the wall in his white undershirt. The belt is missing from his trousers, and they’re already starting to fall off his slim hips. His hair is falling out of the gel, and when Tyler catches his gaze again, Joe looks amused.

Tyler remembers the question. “Yeah,” he says. “Yes. Why?” His hands might sweat right through his jeans.

“It’s usually the sports guys who want to turn on the TV when I want to get them into bed.” He crosses the floor, bending down easily to find the remote on the shelf underneath the coffee table, and Joe tosses it to Tyler, even as he sits down on the couch, one knee on either side of Tyler’s lap, arms on his shoulders, hands in his hair. “Go ahead and turn it on. I can wait.”

“I’m—” Tyler clears his throat and tries again. “I’m good,” he says, only just getting the words past his lips before Joe dives into a kiss. 

They haven’t done that before. They’ve barely touched. Most of the night at the bar, they sat in the booth with Dylan between them. Tyler and Joe talked. They have the child star past between them, the TV show which ate up their high school years. Dylan and Joe did the kissing, the touching. Tyler didn’t know what was friendly and what was flirting until right now. Joe’s mouth makes sense.

He kisses slowly, easing them into a rhythm of kiss, kiss, turn, like he knows Tyler is thinking about running. He knows, or maybe Dylan had told him, on their long walk down the hall, that this isn’t something Tyler does. It’s something he tried, years and years ago, before he grew into his ears and his teeth, but girls didn’t care because he was on TV. Boys didn’t care because none of them were waiting for Tyler to call the next day.

Joe isn’t waiting for Dylan to be finished in the bathroom. He claims Tyler on the living room couch, with his mouth and his tongue, a friendly invitation. Like that wasn’t obvious, he pulls away, Tyler’s lower lip clasped between Joe’s teeth, slapping back wetly when Joe lets go to ask, “Do you know what’s going to happen?”

It could be a question, but the tone of his voice slides closer to threat. Tyler doesn’t know what’s going to happen, beyond this couch, and Joe, a moving weight of arousal on his lap, and Dylan now, over Joe’s shoulder and watching them from the hallway. This is happening because Dylan wants it. And Tyler wants Dylan. And Joe wants both of them, together maybe, though his mouth is making a case for Tyler getting off right here, on the couch.

He makes to stand without thinking, toppling Joe off his lap to the side on the couch, but then Dylan is there with them, pressing one open hand against Tyler’s chest to stop him. “I saw a big bed back there,” Dylan says. He touches his lips to Tyler’s and licks the taste of Joe away. “Big enough for three, I think. More comfortable than this couch,” he says, finding the best way to sit next to Tyler, one of Joe’s legs still tangled in his lap. “Definitely.”

Dylan stands first, and when Tyler gets up, he offers a hand down to Joe and an apology. He says it out loud, too, because he feels so bad. “Sorry,” and his face scrunches up when Joe waves him off. 

“No worries,” Joe tells him. They walk down the hall, an uncoordinated mass of limbs and Dylan stripping along the way. “Except now I get to go first.” He grins, and when he does, Tyler can’t say no.

At the door, Joe leads the way into the bedroom, finally pulling off the last pieces of clothes and tossing them into a dark corner Tyler can’t see. Dylan stops, and Tyler bumps his chest against Dylan’s back before a hand reaches out and pushes him towards the wall. It’s hard to see anything in the dark before Joe flicks on a bedside lamp in his room. Then Dylan’s face lights up, and his eyes look sad. He doesn’t want them to go into the bedroom yet, so Tyler leans against the wall beside the open door and waits. He smiles because he wants to see Dylan smile, too.

“We don’t have to do this,” Dylan says. He's definitely sober now.

“We’re here,” Tyler says. “Let’s do it.”

“No, I mean.” Dylan rubs his hands on Tyler’s chest before wrapping them around to rub his back, too. They’re almost exactly the same height. They’re just the right height for kissing. “Don’t do this because I want it.”

“I want it because you want it,” Tyler says. “That’s how love works.”

It’s the first time he’s said anything like that, but not the first time he’s thought it. From the way Dylan swallows, heavy and loud, it’s not the first time he’s thought it either.

They kiss instead of saying anything more. Tyler couldn’t if he had anything more to say. 

Before Tyler lets himself sink too far into Dylan and the kiss and the wall holding both of them up, he remembers why they’re here. Dylan is much more reluctant to stop kissing, so Tyler hooks his fingers in Dylan’s jeans and drags him through the open bedroom door. They’re still attached at the lips when Dylan trips and falls onto the bed, squawking when he rolls over something. Tyler tries not to laugh when Dylan holds up a big bottle of lube.

“Sorry,” Joe says, folding his pants and hanging them over a chair. “I just wanted to make sure it was handy.”

That makes Dylan laugh and bury his face in his knees, then Tyler breaks, and Joe follows after. Once the tension has melted away, it’s easy. Dylan is already on the bed, but he rolls off to shimmy out of his jeans and step out of his socks. Joe is on that side of the bed, so he helps Dylan off with his T-shirt, taking advantage of the way Dylan flails when he’s blinded to grab him through his shorts.

He makes a noise like “eep!” and falls back on the bed again. 

“All right,” he says. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

Dylan is desperate to get naked. Once he’s sure this is going to happen, he wants it to happen right now. Tyler is happy to wait and watch Dylan struggle out of his boxers. He enjoys the show, casually toeing off his sneakers and folding his shirt to add it to the pile of clothes Joe has made on a wooden chair, while Dylan rolls around on the bed.

“Hey!” Dylan says, like he thinks they’re not paying attention to him. When he rolls over again, a string of condoms is stuck to his sweaty back. “Get it off, get it off.” He goes up on his knees and twists around trying to shake them off. 

Joe reaches out to help. He shares a look with Tyler over Dylan’s head. There’s no more need to ask for permission, but Tyler nods, and Joe turns Dylan around by his shoulders, and they’re back on the bed and kissing before Tyler can finish undressing to join them.

They haven’t been together in months. Tyler doesn’t know who Dylan has been with since the last time. He has no hold on him. The best thing Tyler hung on to during their time apart was Dylan wanting to do it again when they were on set again. But this isn’t a set. This isn’t how Tyler pictured it, when he let himself picture it, when he let himself miss Dylan, wholly different than the way he missed making the show. Even this last week, doing press with him and Posey, it’s Tyler’s reminder to himself that they’re not together. Not the way he wants them to be.

The noise is loud and wet when Dylan tears himself away from Joe to stare at Tyler over his bare shoulder. “Why are you so far away?” he asks. He stretches back to hold out his hand. Tyler takes it.

With Dylan on the bed in the middle, this thing is suddenly a thing. It’s real. Tyler is having his first threesome, and it’s just as weird as he thought it might be (though he never thought about threesomes much). He doesn’t know where to put his hands, and his legs keep bumping into other legs until he moulds his body to Dylan’s, chest against back and their knees tucked together. That’s familiar. Tyler knows what to do with this. 

“Tyler’s ready,” Dylan says, words muffled on Joe’s tongue. He reaches back again to grab hold of Tyler’s right ass cheek and pull him in closer, pressing his wanting erection in Dylan. “I’m ready.”

Joe has one hand on Dylan’s cock, keeping him hard, and the other in Dylan’s hair, keeping his mouth at the right angle for kissing. “Can I?” he asks. Tyler can’t see Dylan’s face, but he feels him nodding, still nodding. Leaning back on his elbows, Joe asks again, now that his own mouth isn’t busy. “Can I fuck you?”

“Yes, please,” Dylan says. He falls forward on his belly, wriggling his ass and grinning up at Tyler when he hears a familiar moan. He knows exactly what to do to get Tyler going. Sometimes it’s just a look, but every time, it’s that ass. 

After he finds lube again, put out of the way while they were kissing, Joe tosses the bottle at Tyler’s head. He laughs, but he catches it, just in time, reflexes as sharp as ever. Joe keeps the condoms for himself, ripping one off the strip and opening it with careful teeth.

“I like this,” Dylan says, his voice soft and dreamy. He’s settled into the pillows, and he’s watching Joe get himself hard enough to put the condom on. “Nothing to do but watch and wait for you two to take care of me.”

“Just for that.” Tyler slides his finger, slippery with lube now, over Dylan’s hole, feeling him clench and relax and let out a long breath. “I’m going to make you fuck me next,” he says, pressing his face into Dylan’s neck. “Hands and knees. Make you do all the work.”

“Yes.” Dylan gasps when Tyler pushes one finger inside. “That sounds good.”

Tyler gets him ready, stretching his hole until Dylan is humping the bed, working himself up with his ass in the air. Joe seems content to wait, watching with one hand on his condom-covered cock, not squeezing or stroking. Just waiting. 

“Ever make him come like this?” he asks, not like they’re about to have sex, but like he wonders if Tyler ever wanted to make a western. 

“Yeah,” Tyler says. He rubs his beard across Dylan’s shoulders, then kisses the sting away. “He’s real easy. Aren’t you?”

“If you don’t do this now.” He turns his head on the pillow to look at Joe. “I’m gonna fall asleep.”

Tyler shrugs as best he can with his fingers still in Dylan’s ass. “We were up early,” he explains.

He expects Joe to get up on top, do it on hands and knees because Dylan already has his face mashed into a pillow. But he doesn’t. He rubs his hand open-palmed down Dylan’s arm, over his hip and his thigh, then back up his side to his chest. Even in the low light, Tyler can see the goosebumps popping up all over Dylan’s skin. He can hear Dylan moaning into the bed. Joe keeps up his touch until Dylan’s nipple is a perk red point.

“Sorry,” he says. “I just want to take my time with you. But no more waiting.” With his hand on Dylan’s hip, Joe pulls him off the bed and back, away from Tyler’s fingers, but Dylan’s ready. His head flops backwards onto Joe’s shoulder, and they look so beautiful together, pieced together, back to chest. 

Tyler lays on the other side of the bed, watching, propped up on his elbow and stroking his cock without really feeling it. He doesn’t need to do anything with it; he just wants to be hard. 

Joe moves Dylan’s legs apart, and Tyler can see in Dylan’s face when Joe is inside. He whines, only for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut through the pain, but Tyler worked him open good. They both relax into it, Joe pressing open-mouthed kisses up and down Dylan’s long neck, and Dylan lifting one arm back to run his fingers through Joe’s messy hair. 

Dylan breathes out a long sigh with every thrust. He opens his eyes and finds Tyler already watching. “Kiss me,” he says. 

He inches his hand across the bed, and then he’s petting Tyler’s chest. Tyler will have to start waxing again when they start filming, but for now he’s letting everything grow out. Between Dylan’s hair and his beard, they’re both fluffy and scratchy, and Tyler knows everyone is going to come away from tonight with red rashes in weird places. 

They kiss with just their lips because Tyler is loving the noises Dylan is making. His breaths are loud, and every time Joe pushes in, those breaths catch in Dylan’s throat, and they come out like heavy grunts. They come out on Tyler’s lips, and he swallows them down to save for later.

“He’s good,” Dylan says. Joe looks up from where he’s biting an impressive red mark on Dylan’s neck to share a look with Tyler.

“Tell me how good.” Tyler pulls Dylan’s knee up over his hip. He slides them closer together. He pushes his own erection into Dylan’s soft stomach, and the rhythm changes when it’s all three of them together. 

“He’s big,” Dylan says. 

The beat starts in Joe, travels through Dylan, and when Tyler catches it, he sends it back. 

“He fills me up.” 

It’s Joe who flails to catch one of Tyler’s hands, but when they’re connected, it’s like closing the circuit. 

“He’s not going to stop.” Dylan squeezes his eyes shut and moans into Tyler’s chest. “Tell him not to stop,” he whispers.

It’s probably what makes Dylan come, the two of them working themselves in and on his body. Joe is rough with his thrusts, but Dylan takes it because he likes it and because he knows. Tyler is right there, and Tyler will catch him if he needs catching. 

Joe makes Dylan come, with some help from Tyler’s hand. But Tyler doesn’t come. He’s close, but first, he has to make sure Dylan is okay. He rubs the back of his neck, and he nods to Joe when he’s good to pull out. Dylan goes limp on the bed. Tyler rubs his shoulders, and Joe rubs his back.

“Fucking amazing,” Joe says. He seems to settle against Dylan, laying his head in the sharp dip of his lower back, but the post-orgasm quiet is broken when he sits up. “You didn’t come?” Joe asks. Tyler shakes his head. “You have to come.”

He moves to the end of the bed, getting himself between Tyler’s legs. 

“There you go,” Dylan says, happily. Tyler feels his teeth around his nipple. He feels Joe’s mouth around his cock. “That’s what you needed.”

Tyler watches Joe’s dark head bobbing up and down. Dylan’s hand runs up and down his chest and fingernails scratch his belly, delighting when he makes Tyler’s muscles jump and clench. 

“But it would be better if it was me.” Dylan puts his mouth right next to Tyler’s ear. “You’re wishing it was me.”

He nods, frantically. He can’t say it out loud; he can’t say anything. Besides, Joe is doing such a good job, Tyler doesn’t want to make him feel bad. But he wants Dylan. He wants Dylan’s mouth.

“I know. But you’re such a good boy, you’re going to come.” He strokes Tyler’s beard and turns his head with a commanding hand on his jaw. Dylan pushes his thumb into Tyler’s mouth for him to suck. “Go on. I know you want to.”

Tyler comes. He presses his hips down into the mattress, desperate not to thrust into Joe’s mouth because Tyler doesn’t have the words to warn him. Joe swallows, and Tyler feels it around the still-pulsing head of his cock. The whole orgasm is centered on his cock. He feels everything moving out from that point, where Joe is licking him clean, staring up and grinning with those dimples when Tyler looks down.

“Good boy,” Dylan says. He settles himself on Tyler’s shoulder, hair brushing his chin, hand on his chest. Dylan’s voice sounds slow and sleepy. Tyler tightens his arm around him and knows they won’t be moving for a while. They’re certainly not going back to the hotel tonight. Posey should be happy to have the room to himself, if he hasn’t passed out yet. 

Tyler gestures for Joe to come up and join them. “Stop staring,” he says. “And get up here.” Joe is sitting up on his knees between Tyler’s twitching legs. He’s almost hard again, but it doesn’t look urgent. Joe looks unsure of how he fits in his own bed. “C’mere,” Tyler says. He holds out his other arm, making a space for Joe.

Dylan is almost asleep. Joe curls up into Tyler’s side, his head next to Dylan’s on Tyler’s chest. He lets a breath out through his nose, and Tyler feels it warm on his skin. 

“Thank you,” Joe says. Tyler runs his fingers through Joe’s hair instead of saying “you’re welcome”. It feels weird to be thanked for something like this, but he knows what Joe means. Joe moves into Tyler’s hand like a cat, like he knows what Tyler means, too.

He feels Dylan go to sleep, then Joe, but Tyler lays awake for a long time. He traces the pattern on the ceiling with his eyes, and he keeps his breathing steady so he doesn’t wake his partners. But he’s thinking, and he can’t make himself stop. New York will feel different the next time MTV beckons him to town. It already does.


End file.
